


Scratch for the Itch

by kkscatnip (autohaptic)



Series: Getting To Know You [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Exhibitionism, Exposure, M/M, POV Third Person Limited, Present Tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-27
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-13 02:31:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/818920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autohaptic/pseuds/kkscatnip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ashe is sure of two things: that Frederick Wyman wants to fuck him, first and foremost, and also that Ashe will enjoy it <i>far</i> too much. But he has an itch and it needs scratching, and Ashe is good at mitigating risks. Written for kink_bingo's gift basket challenge, "We Have Ways Of Making You Talk", exposure/exhibitionism square.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scratch for the Itch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ingenius](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ingenius/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Tale of a Modern Thief](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/22260) by ingenius. 



> This is an original fic remix/fanfic for the one-shot fic above. This series covers from the time of their first fuck to the last time they have sex in the original fic, so you don't need to read the fic to understand it but I (of course) suggest that you do, as it'll help you get more out of this series.

"No," Ashe tells Frederick Wyman--the boss' son, for fuck's sake--when the guy asks him out to dinner.

Frederick blinks a couple times, then gives an uneasy smile. "You sure? I'd love to get to know you better."

Of course Ashe is fucking _sure_. He schools his face into an expression that might be worn by the mellow twink-like guy that Ashe Morrison is, not Ashe Ellison the thief, and forces a pleasant smile. "Sorry. Wouldn't it be, you know, a little against the rules too?" Frederick is technically Ashe's superior, and Morrison is the kind of guy who follows the rules for the most part.

"I'm not your direct superior," Frederick says, in a way that probably means he's going to ask daddy dearest about the exact rules there.

Right. "Sorry," he says again, and looks down at his keyboard. He's meant to be working, meant to be assessing security risks and all of that bullshit. (And, covertly, setting up the infrastructure so he can steal information in another two months.)

Frederick seems to get the point, at least, and mutters a farewell before leaving Ashe alone in his cubicle.

Good riddance, Ashe thinks.

*

Except now that Frederick has asked, Ashe can't stop noticing him. He did his best to avoid even looking at Frederick before, and now he can't not notice him. He can't fail to track Frederick's movements with his eyes, that self-assured stride and ready smile and... everything.

It's incredibly stupid. Beyond stupid--it's absurd, and it's dangerous, and that doesn't stop Frederick from somehow appearing in Ashe's wank-bank fantasies of all places. It's the time that Frederick comes into the office one evening decked to the nines because he has to leave for an event that night. That's what does it, Frederick being absolutely comfortable in a three-piece suit and a thin silk tie.

Ab _surd_ , he thinks to himself later that week. It's the weekend and he's come in because there's actual work that needs doing by the deadline. Frederick's here, too, for some reason. Ashe doesn't ask and Frederick doesn't surrender any information, but it seems like every time Ashe ends up at the coffee machine, Frederick is right there eyeing Ashe with the kind of heat that makes Ashe's cock twitch and his knees just a little weak.

This is just--no, he isn't going to do this, he decides after the third coffee break. He's just plain not going to let it draw out like this, so on the fourth coffee break, he makes sure there's no one else around and then turns to Frederick and says, "You're distracting."

Frederick snorts. "Like you aren't, wearing those jeans."

Ashe looks down at his jeans. They're the worn-out ones he's had for years that he loves despite how thin and full of holes and almost-holes they are. And they don't quite fit him, sliding off his hips constantly, but they're so comfortable for sitting around and doing computer work.

He'll never get away with wearing them normally, but it's the weekend. Nobody gives a shit what you wear to the work on the weekend. He almost says that, but bites his lip and tells himself to stick to the character. He's Ashe Morrison, twink extraordinaire. Or something like it, anyway.

"I think we should just fuck and get it over with; I can't work like this."

The look on Frederick's face says he didn't expect those words from Ashe, but whatever, maybe Frederick's idea of Ashe Morrison isn't quite right. He licks his lips, looks down at the coffee in his hands, and back at Ashe. "Here, or do we get a room somewhere?"

If they left together, there'd be too many possible questions for Ashe to answer. Unpleasant questions. Instead he says softly as he can, "Here. No cameras."

Maybe Frederick thinks he knows why Ashe doesn't want cameras. Maybe he doesn't want any cameras, himself. Whatever it is, he doesn't even blink, setting down his coffee and then turning on his heel.

Ashe counts to three, sets down his own coffee, and follows.

*

It ends up that they go back to Ashe's cubicle, Ashe's desk. "No cameras, really?" he asks, raising one eyebrow. He doesn't quite believe it.

"I disabled them," Frederick says with a perfectly straight face.

Hearing that almost makes Ashe tell him to fuck off then and there. The only thing that stops him is the idea of spending the rest of the weekend pining after Frederick, wanting to kiss his full lips, feel those muscles, grind their cocks together, let Frederick fuck him. He can't take that, not now. "You're unbelievable," he says, sitting on the edge of his desk, not even noticing the way it creaks in protest.

"Yeah," Frederick says, shrugs, and slides one leg between Ashe's, his hip against Ashe's crotch, strong hand cupping the back of Ashe's neck and pulling him in for a kiss.

It's fucking electricity when their lips touch. Full-fledged, no half-baked bullshit, like sticking his finger in an electric outlet or something. Frederick's--fuck, why is his name even so long, it's like he was designed to annoy Ashe. Why can't he be Freddie or Fred or even Red. Red would be fine, perfect, wonderful.

But Frederick's tongue is too distracting for him to keep going on that thought; Ashe makes a high noise he does not at all intend to make when Frederick's teeth scrape over Ashe's tongue, when they catch Ashe's bottom lip as the kiss breaks.

"Fuck," Ashe breathes, and it looks like Frederick takes that as invitation to kiss Ashe again.

Not that Ashe is complaining. Fuck no, not when he can feel Frederick's cock getting hard against his thigh and knows Frederick can feel the same damn thing from Ashe. He's not got a lot of experience, but this--this is outside of it. Kissing someone has never been like this before.

If he weren't so jaded he'd call it magical, but it's not. It's just endorphins and pheromones and things like that--science working against him. He repeats that information to himself over and over as they kiss again and again, as Frederick's hand cups Ashe's ass, squeezing, and Ashe finds himself cupping Frederick's head, his neck, finally tangling his fingers in that messy hair and tousling it, pulling it.

Frederick presses against Ashe a little harder, and all at once there's a much louder crack that Ashe doesn't miss and the desk breaks under them. Ashe doesn't fall on his computer, but only barely, saved by Frederick's fast, fast reflexes.

"Fuck," Frederick breathes, and kisses Ashe again. "We are _going_ to finish this."

But Ashe is so fucking sure that the desk breaking was a sign and he's not stupid enough to think that this could work out, that getting noticed, getting fucked by Wyman Jr is a _good_ idea. It's not, it's really not at all.

"No," Ashe says, catching his breath. "I'm going home."

He doesn't look back, and Frederick doesn't try and follow him.

*

Ashe doesn't last another two weeks before he starts obsessing again. He remembers the feel of Frederick's hair, most of all, surprisingly soft under Ashe's fingers, and the way Frederick's cock felt so good, even just pressed against the top of Ashe's thigh.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Maybe it happened before and he just didn't fucking notice it, but now he notices it all the time: he sees Frederick a _lot_ , considering they don't work in the same section of security. And now he notices the way Frederick's posture straightens when Ashe walks over, the way he looks without looking, the way the uniform slacks don't hide the fact that Frederick wears boxers half the time and nothing at all the rest of the time, and is also well-endowed. Not ridiculously so, just delightfully well-endowed.

"Not here," he murmurs, when he happens to meet Frederick at the coffee machine one day. No one else is around and he hopes he's speaking softly enough for the cameras to miss it. "My apartment, tonight, eight o'clock. Don't be late." It's one thing Ashe can't fucking stand, and he'd rather not start out the fuck with _It's about time you got here, you impolite prick_.

Frederick nods without looking at Ashe, and Ashe goes back to his desk with his coffee cup still empty. It doesn't matter; the adrenaline will keep him wide awake.

*

By _my apartment_ Ashe of course means _the apartment I rent in Ashe Morrison's name_. It'll be on file, and there's no point in pretending Frederick can't just look up Ashe's file any time he likes.

The apartment, like any element of a good cover, has to fit the character. Morrison is young and quietly spends his money on apartment that is mediocre on the outside--the biggest draw it has is a gorgeous view and one floor-to-ceiling window--and lavish on the inside. He can afford it, of course, since he got that awesome job at Wyman Inc a month ago.

Ashe doesn't pace while he waits, but he does wish that he'd set the time earlier than eight o'clock. He thought it would give him ample time to prepare, and it does, but it only takes so much time to shower, shave, and pick out clothes.

Since Frederick seemed to like Ashe's favorite pair of jeans so damn much, Ashe wears those with blue cotton mini boxer-briefs underneath. A navy and light blue striped button-up shirt, nice but not too nice for Ashe Morrison, goes over a pristine white t-shirt on top. Ashe debates long and hard over that, wondering if he should skate the line between twink and normal guy, and in the end decides to opt for what's easiest. No shoes, of course. It's one of those intimacy signals that Ashe has always found so fascinating: bare feet.

(Ashe has a few very specific appreciations in life, and clothes is one of them.)

But that only takes half an hour, and he's left with nearly forty-five minutes with fuck-all to do. He writes a bit of code for the sequencing program he's working on for that moment when he steals the data, but his mind is too scattered to be any good at it. He gives up with twenty minutes still to go.

The sound of someone coming up the stairs--Ashe's apartment backs up to the stairwell, part of why it was cheap despite the view--can't be anyone but Frederick. He can't pinpoint why he knows that the steps belong to Frederick, but he knows they do beyond a shadow of a doubt.

He's proven right when Frederick knocks on the door, four sharp raps and then silence.

For some reason, Ashe's knees don't want to work, but he brute forces it over to the door and takes a few deep breaths before looking through the peep hole. Better safe than sorry, but he is right: it's Frederick..

Ashe is careful not to give away anything as he opens the door, just giving a brief smile, letting Frederick in, and closing and locking the door behind him.

"You prick," Frederick says, eyeing Ashe's jeans. Or his crotch--same difference. It's not mean, though, more happy, with a little grin and brief heat in his gaze.

Ashe shrugs, leading Frederick over to the couch. He sits down on one side, and waits to see where Frederick chooses to sit. "Isn't the point of tonight enticement?"

"Yeah, well." And Frederick is actually blushing enough that his swarthy skin betrays it. He stands, studying the couch, the armchair, and the ottoman in front of the couch that is half seating and half makeshift coffee table; Ashe's holotab sits on the far end. Frederick sits down on the ottoman, facing Ashe, their knees brushing together. "Did--are we going to eat first?"

"Hadn't planned on it," Ashe says, and realizes as he does that Frederick is--he's having trouble. Not his usual smooth self, the self that makes Ashe want him so fucking much. "We can if you want, though."

Frederick shrugs. "It's--we can just talk. If it's cool with you."

And here's where Ashe's cover gets tested hard. He can't let it show, though, so he just asks: "Okay, a million credit question for you: If you won the lottery and never had to work again, what would you do for the rest of your life?" It's one of those questions that instantly make people think you're _such_ a deep and fascinating person, while it distracts them completely from thinking about you for long enough that it's possible to come up with your own answer for the character.

At first, Frederick shakes his head, looking away, toward the window where the city lights make everything beautiful. He's quiet for an entire minute, just about. "I have no clue."

"Think on it," Ashe says, and smiles brightly.

"You have hidden depths," Frederick says, leaning forward, elbows on his knees and fingers laced together. "I wouldn't have thought it."

Ashe also sticks to himself because he's shitty at trying to be someone he's not. He can act like a twink, but he knows that the real Ashe is always going to shine through. "My parents were philosophers," he says, because it's kind of true, insofar as he's ever been able to figure out. They had a life philosophy, at the very least.

Frederick tilts his head for a moment, then smiles. "Fair enough. So--what about you?"

What does Morrison want? Young, idealist, his dream job is working security... "I want to help people. Make sure they stay safe, you know."

"Yeah," Frederick says, and the smile turns into a grin. He unlaces his hands, and one cups Ashe's knee. "That sounds nice--keeping people safe. I was in the military for a while, and that was why I joined. I wanted to do what I could to protect people."

All Ashe can think about is the warm, gentle pressure of Frederick's hand on his knee. He takes a few breaths, eyes trained on that point of contact. "You're a tease," he says, trying to make sure he doesn't sound desperate. Succeeding marginally.

"Am I? You're wearing the tease jeans." He slides his hand up a little, to a hole on the outside of Ashe's lower thigh.

The hole is from catching it on a makeshift tunnel entrance years ago, nearly the first hole he'd gotten in these jeans. Frederick's fingertips are even warmer against Ashe's bare skin than through the jeans, and Ashe can't stop the sigh that he gives, or the way his heart rate speeds up.

"Sensitive much?" Frederick asks, those odd, light eyes intent on Ashe's face.

Ashe nods quickly. Not frantic, just quick, and spreading his other leg just a little, silently inviting Frederick in further to explore _all_ the holes in Ashe's jeans. There aren't that many, though there are plenty of areas where there are almost holes.

Like the place that Frederick finds next, the fingers of his other hand sliding up the inside of Ashe's leg until he pets the extremely threadbare spot right at Ashe's crotch. He cups Ashe's sack through his clothes, squeezing lightly and making gooseflesh rise on Ashe's arms before letting his fingers trail down Ashe's other leg, slow but steady.

Inwardly, Ashe burns to do something, to pin Frederick down and kiss him, fuck his mouth brutally with nothing but a tongue, but Morrison won't do that so he can't. He can only lean back against the couch, turning his head to the side and letting his eyes close.

"It's not your first time, is it?" Frederick asks, which has to be, _has_ to be a sign that Ashe isn't failing at acting like Ashe Morrison. There's a damn good reason he's never fucked anyone while undercover before.

He chooses to take it just as the good, the sign that he's doing well, and shakes his head, once, eyes flickering open. Looking him in the eye is harder than Ashe would've thought. "No, I'm not a virgin, I'm just..." he trails off into a shuddering gasp as Frederick's fingers close over one of Ashe's nipples through the shirt that is suddenly entirely too many clothes. Another breath, and he continues, "I'm just inexperienced." And it's not even a lie. Or not much of one, anyway.

"Mmm. I don't normally go for inexperienced guys, but there's something about you that I can't put out of my head."

And here, Frederick answers Ashe's lie with truth. It might make him feel like a dick if he's ever inclined to feel like a dick for lying. Which he isn't. So he doesn't. "So you don't normally fuck guys like me?"

"No," Frederick says, and his expression is all amusement. He lets his hands slip down, cupping Ashe's ass and pulling him closer, to the edge of the couch, before pressing his lips against Ashe's. The kiss is fiery, full of want and that heavy feeling behind Ashe's balls that makes him groan, arching against Frederick's touch.

"You—" Ashe says, or tries to say, but Frederick doesn't let him get away with it, just presses his lips against Ashe's again and pulls Ashe into his lap by his belt-loops. The sound of fabric ripping barely registers; the only thing Ashe gives a shit about is grinding his ass down against Frederick's cock and kissing for all he's worth.

Frederick seems fine with that plan, which is just as well, since Ashe will go on with it whether Frederick likes it or not. But it's better when he does like it, better when Ashe gets to hear him groan in a way that scratches the itch that Ashe has been feeling for way, way too long.

Itches aren't good. Itches will get him killed. He knows that.

This, though, this won't get him killed. This will keep him alive, he reasons, and then Frederick's hand slides inside the loose hem of the worn jeans and presses down against Ashe's cock and Ashe finds himself wrapping his arms around Frederick's shoulders. He buries his face against Fredrick's neck as he whimpers.

"Never thought," Frederick whispers, but not like he's talking to Ashe, more to himself, and Ashe doesn't want Frederick to talk to himself.

Ashe wants Fredrick to talk to him. "Never thought what?"

"Never thought I could really enjoy fucking a-- a _twink_." He says the word like it's a foreign concept, which maybe it is.

But if twink is a foreign concept for Frederick, it is for Ashe too. He huffs out a laugh, shifts so he can wrap his legs around Frederick's waist, and grinds himself harder back against Frederick's cock.

Frederick's arms, those huge fucking arms, hold Ashe tight for a few moments, then lift him up easily, and Frederick rests his forehead against Ashe's cheek as he pants. "Fucking—fucking—I don't even know—how—it's—not normal."

Either he really doesn't like twinks, or he hasn't had very much sex that's actually good. Which Ashe can understand, but doesn't want to think about. Right now all he wants is Frederick's cock in his ass.

"Fuck me," Ashe says, lifting his head a little to say the words into Frederick's ear. Morrison does that kind of thing, right?

Frederick laughs breathlessly. "Oh, I'm going to. Don't you worry about _that_."

Ashe wants Frederick's cock _now_ , damn it. He wiggles out of Frederick's grip, stumbling back against the couch and then springing up. His head swims for a moment, cock heavy in his underwear, and he unbuttons his jeans--they're so loose they don't even need unzipping--leaving them there in the middle of the living room and heading toward the bedroom.

Before he gets there, Frederick pins him against the wall with another of those kisses. The deep ones that make fire burn in Ashe's belly, that make his balls ache and, he now realizes, his knees go weak. He wraps his arms around Frederick's neck and clasps his elbows with his hands to make sure he won't fall accidentally.

"Having trouble standing?" Frederick asks, voice low with arousal but still laced with amusement.

A little, maybe. Ashe doesn't answer, though, just presses his lips against Frederick's again. For his trouble he gets Frederick's teeth scraping his tongue, biting his lip, and nipping at his jaw in the aftermath.

Ashe may not have a ton of sexual experience, but that's one thing he already knows he likes. He makes a happy noise, and Frederick bites down harder, the pain sudden enough to draw a gasp out of Ashe.

"I think I know what to do with you," Frederick says, voice husky as he presses himself against Ashe, presses Ashe back against the wall.

 _Fuck_ , that feels nice. Not just being trapped--he'll let Frederick trap him any day of the week and say thank you, he's pretty sure--but also Frederick's cock pressing against his. Plus the roughness of the jeans against his bare skin, Ashe can't forget that, doesn't want in any way to forget that.

It's either ask what Frederick is going to do or try and squirm away so that Frederick will slam him back against the wall, and Ashe opts for the latter, to beautiful effect. Frederick slams him back and Ashe gasps for breath, fingers digging into Frederick's skin.

For a few glorious moments Ashe really understands why people want to do this all of the goddamned time. He's never seen the appeal of it before--too many constraints, too many ties, when all Ashe really needs is to have his itch scratched--but those seconds of his breath being knocked out of him, of Frederick panting against Ashe's sweaty skin, of Frederick's cock digging into Ashe's hip... it's all perfect.

And then Frederick's grip slips a little and Ashe's knees, weak already, abandon all pretense of working and he's halfway to the floor before Frederick saves him.

"Hold your fucking self up," Frederick hisses, fingers digging into Ashe's shoulders now as Frederick hauls him back into a standing position.

Somehow, Ashe manages to find a few shreds of dignity, enough to buck Frederick's hips away from his and growl, "What--" but he cuts off, because that's not Morrison, that's not who he is right now. He swallows, tipping his head back against the wall and dragging in fresh air.

"What, _what_?" Frederick asks, curiosity in his tone.

Fuck. Ashe shakes his head, and Frederick pulls away completely.

He's cold, all at once, and standing up is entirely too hard. He ends up squatting, crossing his arms over his chest and rubbing his arms through that stupid dress shirt that is somehow not enough without Frederick's warmth backing it up. Ashe doesn't glare up at Frederick, but he knows he's not far off from it either. He makes sure his voice isn't biting. "I was going to ask: what's stopping you from doing it?"

Frederick shrugs, reaching down and grabbing Ashe's wrist, hauling him away from the bedroom and back towards the living room. He stops halfway there, pulling Ashe back against him, letting his cock press against Ashe's ass through their clothes.

"Nothing," Frederick says, hot breath on Ashe's ear and neck, fuck, fuck. He slides one hand down, too, cupping Ashe's balls and letting the palm rub over Ashe's cock in a deliciously teasing way. "But if I hold you up, it means I can't put as much effort into fucking you so hard you forget your own name. Think you can stand on your own two feet?"

Forget his--Frederick's already gotten him there. A little. He isn't even halfway there anymore, though, and the words are kind of a very, very, _very_ good point. Being fucked so hard he forgets who he is shouldn't be appealing, but it really fucking is. Ashe nods, feeling only a little frantic with the sudden desire to put everything he has into making sure his knees don't go weak. "Yeah. _Yes_."

A kiss against the back of Ashe's neck, then the side, then Frederick's hand on Ashe's jaw, turning his face to the side, likely so he can press a kiss against the side of Ashe's mouth. "Good boy."

Ashe Ellison wants to smash Frederick's pretty face for saying that; Ashe Morrison melts back against him instead.

Frederick laughs, sounding pleased, and his hand slips inside Ashe's tight underwear and gives Ashe's cock a few pulls. There's nothing for Ashe to do but moan and concentrate on making sure he can still stand, but Frederick fucks with it, makes Ashe walk--stumble, really--over toward the window, the bay window, and guides his hands to the railing.

This building was a hotel, once upon a time. The window goes from the floor to the ceiling, has curtains, but they're drawn back whenever Ashe is home to give verisimilitude to his cover. They're drawn back now, which is good because Ashe clutches that railing like a lifeline, wishing it weren't so close to the window so he could lean on it more than he already is.

Naturally Fredrick just fucks up that plan even more, pulling Ashe's hips back, making him bend over to where his head hangs between his shoulders. Not that it doesn't have its benefits, in the form of Frederick pressing his face right in the crack of Ashe's ass, but it's still--annoying. He's not sure, not really, that he can stay standing without help.

No matter, or maybe _because of_ , how desperately he wants Frederick to fuck him so hard he forgets his name.

Frederick bites down, half on Ashe's ass cheek, half on the sensitive skin around his hole. Through the underwear. Ashe's knees go weak for a moment as he groans, eyes rolling back and hands gripping the railing like the dome will come crashing down around him if he lets go. He doesn't let go, and he doesn't end up on the floor. He does spread his legs a little wider, leaning forward a bit as Frederick lets up.

" _Good_ ," he says, in this growly voice that is enough just on its own to make Ashe's cock throb.

See, Ashe is capable of being good. Morrison can be good, especially as Frederick's fingers rub over his cock again, teasing through the fabric and then sliding inside, pulling Ashe's underwear down and off.

Lucky for Ashe, Frederick supports him as he steps out of them. Or maybe unlucky, as it makes Frederick pull his face out of Ashe's ass for what feels like long, _long_ moments.

As soon as Ashe returns to a more steady position, he resumes, though, his tongue wet, wet, wet against Ashe's hole. He's only been rimmed once before, and the guy who did it then didn't have quite as much enthusiasm for it as Frederick does now. He licks and thrusts his tongue inside of Ashe, bites, scrapes teeth, nibbles, flicks his tongue, does just--everything. Ashe can't keep track of it, and before he realizes it his knees are going weak again, bending even as he tries so fucking hard to keep himself standing.

He's doing it, but only barely, and maybe Frederick realizes that because he stops for a moment and blows cool air over Ashe's hole--oh _fuck_ that's nice--and says, "You look good like this."

"Fre--" Ashe gasps, trying for the entire name and not even getting the entire first syllable. "Fred--er--ic _ahhh_."

That wiggly, wet, hot as fuck tongue is in his ass again and Ashe gives up on making words. He abandons them for sensation, the smooth metal of the rail under his fingers, warmed. Frederick's tongue, Frederick's hands, Frederick's low words, all of them for Ashe.

All of them teasing. Delivering some, but teasing pleasure out of Ashe more than that, making him moan and whimper and wiggle and struggle so fucking hard to stay on his feet. By the time Frederick gets to fingering, Ashe feels wrung out.

Feels like he's giving everything and Frederick's giving nothing and he can't--no--not like this. No attention for his cock, nothing but teasing. He can't.

"Please," Ashe whispers, and lets himself actually go down to his knees this time, lets himself kneel slowly with Frederick's fingers still in his ass, still twisting and curling. "I can't--I can't. I _can't_." He honestly has no idea what it was he can't do, just that it's essential to convey to Frederick that he can't.

"Shh," Frederick says, and kisses Ashe's shoulder, doesn't pull his fingers out but does move from behind Ashe to beside him. Does reach up and help Ashe unwrap his hands from the railing, pressing kisses against Ashe's sore fingers and palms.

Does nuzzle Ashe's face before kissing him, not all force and demand, but gentle, asking, pleading for more. Ashe kisses back, sloppily at first with lack of--something--and then faster, messier as Frederick draws him out. Makes him give more when Ashe didn't even want to give anything to begin with.

He just wanted a fuck, not--this. But he can't deny that he's flying high, that Frederick's fingers in his ass are feeling better and better, and he's pushing back against them, one hand going down to his cock to jack himself off slowly.

"That's it," Frederick whispers, words hot against Ashe's face. "You want more, don't you? Want me to make you forget your name."

Ashe Ellison says no, but Ashe Ellison is buried somewhere under all of the pleasure and heat in Ashe's belly. Ashe Morrison, on the other hand, melts just the way he did before, nodding, leaning against Frederick, his free hand wrapping around Frederick's waist.

Frederick nuzzles Ashe's neck again and licks this time. Nips, and chuckles as Ashe tightens around him. " _Good_. Do you think you can hold on to the bar again?"

Yes. He can. He knows he can. "Why?"

That _smile_ is dangerous, Ashe decides.

"I don't want you to end up with your face against the glass. You don't have to stand again; I promise." Frederick's voice is low, rumbly. Gorgeous. And those eyes, so sharp.

"Okay," Ashe breathes, and goes from sitting on his heels to up, holding onto the bar again, but with one hand this time.

As a reward, or maybe just because he wants to, Frederick leans down and bites Ashe's ass. Not lightly. Hard enough to make Ashe shake, make him moan, head falling forward just like before, eyes sliding shut.

Frederick tangles his fingers in Ashe's hair and pulls his head back. "Don't close your eyes; it'll just make you get overwhelmed again."

Good advice. Ashe keeps his eyes open, looking down at his own hand on his cock. Frederick's comes around for a moment, hovering there like he wants to touch but isn't sure what Ashe wants, so he doesn't.

The fingers in Ashe's ass redouble their efforts, twisting, pushing Ashe forward hard, making him shudder happily.

"You have no fucking clue how delicious you look," Frederick says, his voice low again. That rumble, that growl, goes from Ashe's spine to his shoulders, making him shiver, and then straight down to his cock. "I'm going to fuck you so hard that you have to bring a pillow with you to work. Make you scream, too."

Ashe isn't a screamer, generally, so he doubts that, but then Frederick twists his fingers again, pistoning, and he groans loudly and re-evaluates the likelihood of screaming to marginally likely. "Do it, then," he growls, wanting this to just--go. More. Now. Frederick asked for a little more and Ashe wants the more now, now, now.

"Fuck yes," is all Frederick says, pulling his fingers out. Ashe looks over his shoulder in time to see Frederick rolling a condom on and can't help a smile. Even if he's dommy as fuck, Frederick's still not a jerk, still--

" _Fuuuck_ ," Ashe shouts, when Frederick presses inside all at once. The finger-fucking made it easier, evidently, which Ashe notes for future reference. He pushes back against Frederick, a groan following the shout; Frederick doesn't pull out, just presses in and in and pulls Ashe's hips back against his, vice fucking grip to make sure Ashe doesn't, you know, accidentally fall off his cock or anything.

Then he begins these little rocking motions and Ashe's brain just goes somewhere. Not here, not with the way Frederick's cock rubs right against Ashe's prostate like he knows what he's doing and isn't going to stop it, ever.

It's physically limiting in the extreme, just being trapped there, being subject to Frederick's force of will and that grip, and the way he just doesn't stop, keeps going and going and going long past when he should begin really fucking Ashe.

However long it lasts, just that rocking and Frederick holding him in place, Ashe doesn't know, can't even begin to say, but it ends when Ashe frantically pushes Frederick away, gasping, whimpering, leaning his face and one shoulder against the window, the hand that was on his cock covering his ass.

Ashe knows he didn't come, but he's still shaking like crazy.

Did he close his eyes? He can't remember. All he can do is gasp in breath, almost sobbing, definitely coughing every few breaths.

Frederick doesn't touch Ashe at first, not until Ashe's breathing evens out a bit, at which point his fingers gently brush over the middle of Ashe's back. "Hey. _Hey_ , Ashe. You okay?"

Ashe doesn't even fucking know if he's okay. He swallows, mouth so dry, and gives his best shrug.

Without a word, Frederick stands, looking around and then walking toward the kitchen. For as long as he's gone, Ashe closes his eyes, feeling his entire fucking body throbbing less and less with each breath. His cock softens, too, which is a relief for reasons that he can't even fully explain.

Turns out that Frederick was only getting Ashe a glass of water; he squats next to Ashe, but not in front of him, not crowding him, and holds it out with a smile that isn't dangerous. "Drink." Despite the smile, it's an order.

Morrison would do it. Ashe takes the glass and discovers that this is, hands-down, the most delicious water he's ever had. He knows it tastes the same as it always does, but he's so thirsty, his throat is so dry, that it's made delicious by his need. He finishes it and cradles the glass against his chest, feeling his cheeks go bright red as his brain catches up with his body.

Fuck him til he forgets who he is, right? Or his name. Ashe can't remember, exactly, but he knows Frederick did it and he knows that this can never happen again.

"I think you should go," he says, looking up to catch Frederick's eyes.

The expression on Frederick's face says that he expected this. He pulls the condom off and pulls his boxers and slacks back on, then leans down and gives Ashe a kiss. Soft, lingering.

No, Ashe isn't going to go out like that. He cups one hand around the back of Frederick's neck and kisses for all he's worth, kisses like he means it. Because he does, even though he's not sure exactly what he means.

"If you ever want to try again, I'm game," Frederick says, and leaves.

Ashe vows here and now to not give this another chance. Just because there's an itch doesn't mean he needs to scratch it.


End file.
